THE DIVINE IMAGE To Mercy, Pity, Peace, and Love  All pray in their distress;  And to these virtues of delight  Return their thankfulness.  For Mercy, Pity, Peace, and Love  Is God, our father dear,  And Mercy, Pity, Peace, and Love  Is Man, his child and care.  For Mercy has a human heart,  Pity a human face,  And Love, the human form divine,  And Peace, the human dress.  Then every man, of every clime,  That prays in his distress,  Prays to the human form divine,  Love, Mercy, Pity, Peace.  And all must love the human form,  In heathen, Turk, or Jew;  Where Mercy, Love, and Pity dwell  There God is dwelling too. THE LAMB Little Lamb, who made thee?  Dost thou know who made thee?  Gave thee life, and bid thee feed  By the stream and o'er the mead;  Gave thee clothing of delight,  Softest clothing, woolly, bright;  Gave thee such a tender voice,  Making all the vales rejoice?  Little Lamb, who made thee?  Dost thou know who made thee?  Little Lamb, I'll tell thee,  Little Lamb, I'll tell thee:  He is called by thy name,  For he calls himself a Lamb.  He is meek, and he is mild;  He became a little child.  I, a child, and thou, a lamb.  We are called by his name.  Little Lamb, God bless thee!  Little Lamb, God bless thee! THE QUESTION ANSWERED What is it men in women do require? The lineaments of gratified Desire. What is it women do in men require? The lineaments of gratified Desire. INTRODUCTION TO THE SONGS OF INNOCENCE Piping down the valleys wild, Piping songs of pleasant glee, On a cloud I saw a child, And he laughing said to me: 'Pipe a song about a Lamb!' So I piped with merry cheer. 'Piper, pipe that song again;' So I piped: he wept to hear. 'Drop thy pipe, thy happy pipe; Sing thy songs of happy cheer:!' So I sang the same again, While he wept with joy to hear. 'Piper, sit thee down and write In a book, that all may read.' So he vanish'd from my sight; And I pluck'd a hollow reed, And I made a rural pen, And I stain'd the water clear, And I wrote my happy songs Every child may joy to hear. THE TYGER Tyger! Tyger! burning bright  In the forests of the night,  What immortal hand or eye  Could frame thy fearful symmetry?  In what distant deeps or skies  Burnt the fire of thine eyes?  On what wings dare he aspire?  What the hand dare seize the fire?  And what shoulder, and what art,  Could twist the sinews of thy heart,  And when thy heart began to beat,  What dread hand? and what dread feet?  What the hammer? what the chain?  In what furnace was thy brain?  What the anvil? what dread grasp  Dare its deadly terrors clasp?  When the stars threw down their spears,  And water'd heaven with their tears,  Did he smile his work to see?  Did he who made the Lamb make thee?  Tyger! Tyger! burning bright  In the forests of the night,  What immortal hand or eye,  Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?  A LITTLE GIRL LOST Children of the future age, Reading this indignant page, Know that in a former time Love, sweet love, Was thought a crime. In the age of gold, Free from winter's cold, Youth and maiden bright, To the holy light, Naked in the sunny beams delight. Once a youthful pair, Filled with softest care, Met in garden bright Where the holy light Had just removed the curtains of the night. Then, in rising day, On the grass they play; Parents were afar, Strangers came not near, And the maiden soon forgot her fear. Tired with kisses sweet, They agree to meet When the silent sleep Waves o'er heaven's deep, And the weary tired wanderers weep. To her father white Came the maiden bright; But his loving look, Like the holy book All her tender limbs with terror shook. 'Ona, pale and weak, To thy father speak! Oh the trembling fear! Oh the dismal care That shakes the blossoms of my hoary hair!' THE SHEPHERD How sweet is the shepherd's sweet lot! From the morn to the evening he strays; He shall follow his sheep all the day, And his tongue shall be filled with praise.  For he hears the lambs' innocent call, And he hears the ewes' tender reply; He is watchful while they are in peace, For they know when their shepherd is nigh. LAND OF DREAMS Awake, awake, my little boy! Thou wast thy mother's only joy; Why dost thou weep in thy gentle sleep? Awake! thy father does thee keep. O, what land is the Land of Dreams? What are its mountains, and what are its streams? O father! I saw my mother there, Among the lilies by waters fair. “Among the lambs, cloth’d in white, She walk'd with her Thomas in sweet delight. I wept for joy, like a dove I mourn; O! when shall I again return?” Dear child, I, also by pleasant streams, Have wander'd all night in the Land of Dreams; But tho' calm and warm the waters wide, I could not get to the other side. “Father, O father! what do we here In this land of unbelief and fear? The Land of Dreams is better far Above the light of the morning star.” Excerpt from MILTON (a.k.a. "Jerusalem") And did those feet in ancient time Walk upon England's mountains green? And was the holy Lamb of God On England's pleasant pastures seen? And did the Countenance Divine Shine forth upon our clouded hills? And was Jerusalem buildèd here Among these dark Satanic Mills? Bring me my bow of burning gold! Bring me my arrows of desire! Bring me my spear! O clouds, unfold! Bring me my chariot of fire! I will not cease from Mental Fight, Nor shall my sword sleep in my hand, Till we have built Jerusalem In England's green and pleasant land.